Her Loyal Subject
by Meg Moore
Summary: Castle, Beckett, and *that* tiara. A "Child's Play" post-ep.


Kate rolls her eyes at him when he waltzes into their bedroom with the tiara perched atop his head.

"Really, Castle?"

"What?"

She sighs, pursing her lips in mock disapproval, but even she can't deny how completely adorably sexy he looks. Visions of their possible future enter her mind, of a little girl with dark curls and bright blue eyes, playing fairy tea party with her daddy…until she shakes them from her head like so many cobwebs.

"Please tell me you didn't steal that from the classroom."

"Beckett! I'm insulted. If you must know, Leslie insisted that I have it."

She smiles at that. Mrs. Ruiz had certainly softened toward him during his time there. It seems he has the ability to wear everyone down eventually, present company definitely included.

"Well, you make it work, Castle."

"Yeah, I do, don't I?"

He turns to catch sight of himself in the standing mirror, his chest puffed out in an attempt to look manly with a head adorned with glitter and faux gems and feathers. She stifles her giggle…her fiancé, the big man-child.

When he catches her expression in the mirror, something in his countenance changes; he looks downright mischievous now. It's clear he's got something on his mind, and it probably doesn't include playing tea party with her. He spins to look at her then, his grin positively feral.

"So, Beckett, would you like to wear the tiara tonight?"

She narrows her eyes at him playfully. To be honest, she'd probably agree to do just about anything with him right now, tiara or no tiara. Seeing him with those children, what a natural he was with them, how he was able to get them to let their guard down…yeah, she'd be lying if she said it wasn't completely arousing. She never realized how sexy that would be, that paternal side to him. She'd seen it with Alexis of course, but it's completely different with the little ones. He became a gentle giant in their presence. Softer. Sweeter. An endearing child in his own right.

But now he's approaching her and the look in his eyes screams anything _but_ child. Since his return, they've been working to re-establish their rhythm as a couple, and she won't lie, the sex has been helping. A _lot_. They have an undeniable physical chemistry, so even when they're not clicking outside the bedroom, that's the one place they can forget everything, where they can feel connected and close again.

"Would the tiara grant me any special powers?" she inquires as he sits on the bed alongside her hip.

"But of course! The tiara grants the wearer all of the usual privileges that are extended to royalty."

With that, he pulls the crown from his head and places it gently on hers, taking a moment to secure it with the combs attached to the sides.

"Your Highness," he nods. His voice is lower now, rich and resonant and it begins a slow, sensual burn somewhere deep within her belly.

"And you're my loyal subject?" she teases.

"The _most_ loyal." He's gazing at her so intensely now, his eyes darkening another shade.

She feels her heart leap at his words, and she feels the truth of them in her bones. She knows this man, knows his heart. He would do anything – _anything_ – for her, and she knows it. And God damn it, she wants him, now.

She leans into him, pressing her lips against his, her intentions never more clear than they are at this moment. Her tongue ventures out to deepen the kiss, and he denies her nothing, opening his mouth to her. She winds her fingers into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck to pull him into her further, and he tastes so good, so satisfying.

He pulls away from her then, and _why? Why is he doing that?_ But before she can even ask, he's standing and grasping her ankles to pull her down so she's lying flat on her back, only her head cushioned on the plush pillows now. She watches as he stands at the foot of the bed and strips off his t-shirt, her eyes shamelessly roaming over his bare chest. He flings it to the side, his eyes never leaving her face, and she'd be lying if she said his intense stare wasn't completely turning her on. She already feels bared before him. She can't wait to _actually_ be bare for him.

He kicks off his pants next, his boxers doing absolutely nothing to disguise his rampant desire, and it makes her smile widely, knowing the effect she has on him. When he parts her legs so he can crawl between them, her breath catches. She's in her robe, fresh out of the shower, and my God, does she love it when he goes down on her right after she shaves. She's supremely sensitive and he knows it, loves to take advantage of her heightened awareness and make her writhe in ecstasy.

"Just relax and let your faithful subject do all the work, your Highness." His voice is pure gravel and desire, and the jolt to her core is immediate and powerful. She knows what he's going to find between her legs, can already feel the desperate want trickling from her, but she can't bring herself to be self-conscious about it, not when she's wants him so fucking bad she can taste it.

He pulls at the tie securing the two sides of her silky robe together, and as the knot unravels, she does nothing to stop the fabric from falling away. Her body is almost completely naked now with the exception of the robe about her shoulders, every inch of her laid bare before his eyes. She can feel the coolness of the air against her exposed center, and she knows her arousal must be visible to him.

He takes his time perusing her figure, and his breathing becomes noticeably shorter when he reaches the apex of her thighs, her excitement glistening in the low light of the bedside lamp. He's still kneeling between her legs, mesmerized by what he sees, but she's tired of waiting. She needs him to touch her, _now_, so she changes tactics.

She slowly pulls her legs up, bending at the knees, spreading herself open before him. His eyes widen as he blatantly stares at her sex, and she's almost at her breaking point, about to lean forward and pull him atop her when he finally drops and settles between her thighs.

She feels his warm breath washing over her sensitive core, all the more aware of the sensation given her recent shave, and just when she thinks he's going to take his time and torment her, he leans forward and slides his tongue deep into her wetness, gathering up the arousal that's absolutely dripping from her now. He moans at his first taste of her, the vibration almost setting her off and making her thrust her pelvis further into his seeking mouth. This is going to be embarrassingly fast, and she knows it. So does he.

He gives her one long lick, from bottom to top, returning to press his entire face into her and lap at her opening, making wonderfully filthy noises as he so obviously enjoys her flavor. He rises to concentrate his efforts on her clit then, pressing the width of his tongue hard against her and making her cry out because _fuck_, nothing has _ever_ felt this perfect and she just wants him to never, _ever_ stop. Her fingers claw at the sheets viciously, her fingernails digging into the soft material as he wraps his arms around her thighs and takes her apart slowly, methodically.

She'd had other lovers who were good at this act, without a doubt, but what sets Castle apart is his complete and utter enthusiasm for it. He loves everything about it; loves to taste her, loves to make her squirm, make her scream, make her come, as hard and as often as possible. He's gone down on her in every possible situation and location she has allowed, from the locker room at the precinct to his office at the Old Haunt to setting her atop his kitchen counter and making a meal out of _her_. And _my God_, she can't remember a time when it wasn't amazing. The man is talented; there's no other way to put it.

He looks up at her then, their eyes meeting hot and intense over the plane of her stomach. She watches as his tongue disappears between her folds, again and again, gliding over the smooth bundle of nerves, long hard strokes that have her dropping her head to the pillow, a kaleidoscope of colors exploding behind her eyelids. All there is now is this, her entire existence narrowed to the sensation of him and his relentless mouth and _ooooh_ now his fingers as one, and then two thick digits glide deep into the warm wetness flowing from her.

She can already feel it, the orgasm coiling snake-like, getting ready to strike. Oh God, she doesn't want it to be over so soon, but she also knows this is just act one, that there's plenty more in store for her tonight, and given her new-found status as royalty, she's pretty confident he'll deny her nothing. Not that he ever would.

She's rapidly losing control, her limbs twitching, incoherent pleas and breathy moans falling from her lips, her knees dropping to the bed and opening herself further to his divine ministrations. She feels him pull away from her and chances a glance down at him, only to see him suck his shiny fingers into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning around them, apparently lost in her taste and _holy shit_, she's gasping at the sight of him so thoroughly enjoying her.

"Mmmm. God, you taste _so fucking good_."

He opens his eyes to hers then and presses his mouth against her again, never losing eye contact, his fingers sliding home once more and pumping in and out of her, firm strokes with a slight curl upward. She's panting now, desperate for the release only he can give her, and once again she loses the fight to keep her eyes open as he draws her clit into his mouth, the tip of his tongue teasing it mercilessly, exactly the way she likes it, and _ooooooooh God_ it just washes over her, hot and breathless and out of control. She releases the sheets and drives one of her hands into his hair then, clutching tightly and driving his face into her pelvis, begging him for more and more and _please more_.

He switches it up again, his tongue savage against her sensitive nub, long broad strokes that are driving her up up _up_ and when he thrusts his fingers particularly deep this time, she feels the tether snap, the orgasm blazing outward from the place where his mouth meets her flesh, to every last nerve ending in the tips of her fingers and toes, the pleasure prickling in the crown of her head. He doesn't slow for a moment, wave upon wave of white-hot pleasure coursing through her veins, and just when she thinks she's can't go any higher, another crest breaks over her. This time, she cries out – _oh god_ – the intensity of it almost too much as his tongue and fingers work her over tirelessly, coaxing every last little bit of pleasure from her.

He finally begins to slow, almost hesitantly, as though he's just as sad to see this end as she is. Her body is beyond her control now, twitching and panting and pulsing upward into his now-gentle mouth, lapping at her tasty juices, enjoying every last drop that she'll give him. He finishes by kissing her; her clit, her labia, her thighs, her belly. He worships her body slowly, reverently, apparently in no rush to sate his own desires, and she loves him all the more for it.

He pauses at her breasts, lavishing attention on both of them, licking and sucking on each nipple, his attentions sending another jolt of desire down to her over-sensitive core with each scrape of his teeth over the tightly puckered flesh. He finally settles his body beside hers, his fingers traipsing over her dewy skin, drawing random patterns and designs as he waits for her to return to earth.

When she's finally able, she turns her head to him and opens her eyes, his baby blues fixed intently on her, and she knows that all he wants is her love and approval. Some would think him simple that way, but she knows better. She knows that he's simply the ultimate gentleman, that he adores her and just strives for her pleasure in all things. He leans in and presses his lips to hers, sweet and slow, her senses intoxicated with the smell and taste of her own desire, and they quickly deepen the kiss, the desperate thrust of his tongue against hers telling her just how far gone he is, too.

"Was that to your liking, your Highness?" he asks, a little breathy and out of control himself, his boxers gone and his arousal rock-hard against her thigh. As much as she'd love to tease him for how unraveled he sounds, she just can't bring herself to do it, and she fixes her mouth to his again instead, delving deep and relishing the moan she draws from his throat. They shift wordlessly, instinctually, and he settles in the cradle her thighs, the rigid length of him pressing firmly against her soaked center, begging for entrance. As though he even had to ask.

"Oh, _yesssss_…" Her voice is entirely too high-pitched and completely unhinged, but she finds she doesn't mind. She _wants_ him to know what he does to her, how his body and his mouth and his passion completely strip her down, take away all pretenses, expose the underlying love and devotion. "Prepare to receive your reward, my loyal subject," she murmurs against his lips, shifting her hips so that he can slide deep, pulling simultaneous groans from their chests.

The tiara made regular appearances after that night.

* * *

><p><em>AN: What can I say? That tiara was positively inspirational. As always, I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have the time/inclination, I'd love to hear your input._

_Morgan and Becca, you guys are simply the best. Thank you both for your tireless encouragement and unwavering friendship (even when I'm sending you drunken emails entitled "tiara smut")._


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